


Flaws

by ValBirch



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Or as I like to say Flangst, Teenage Mileven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValBirch/pseuds/ValBirch
Summary: El does something dangerous and Mike wonders if he's losing his ability to read her.





	Flaws

“You’re late.”

His voice, playful and light, startles her as she kicks off her muddy sneakers, soaked from the rain. El stiffens up, her cheeks flushed, the familiar warmth of contentment flooding her heart when she catches sight of Mike. He’s standing in the opposite doorway, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, his hair still wet from the shower, though it’s no match for her curls, dripping and drenched from the early spring downpour outside.

“Thought you’d be here this morning,” Mike grins, “I went to grab waffles for breakfast before I got your message but I left them in the fridge if you’re hungry and —”

El listens, careful to keep her eyes downcast as he prattles on, happy she’s there and blissfully unaware that she’s not late because her bus was delayed, regardless of what her message said. Mike approaches her, pulling her close and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. Safe, at last, El leans in closer, removing any space between them, and rests her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat softly. It’s a sound she’s fallen asleep to countless times; one she’ll never get over loving.

“So how about those waffles?” Mike laughs, pulling away, tucking her hair behind her ear and catching sight of her face. His laughter dies in his throat, replaced with a choked gasp.

There’s an ugly bruise on her left cheek, red and splotchy against her otherwise porcelain skin. Mike’s stomach clenches and he reaches out, hand hovering over the mark, afraid to touch but desperate to know who hurt her.

“El, what happened?”

She blinks at him, unresponsive for a long moment, contemplating spilling everything on her mind, but her face gives her away before she can make the decision.

“El? Is everything okay?”

 _Friends don’t lie._ Perhaps it’s naive, silly, but she’s held that adage close to her over the years. And it pains her to think that she’s already lied—to her dad, to her friends, to Mike. Guilt sits heavily on her chest, stopping her breath. Staring into Mike’s eyes, brimming with helplessness, with that familiar desire to help—to _save_ , she decides that the truth is better late than never.

“I found a file on Jim’s desk last week,” El begins, her hands falling into the pockets of her sweater—Mike’s sweater—fiddling with the keychain she keeps there, her palms growing clammy.

“A file?” Mike echoes, confusion on his face. “About what?”

“Another missing little girl,” El gulps, the room suddenly feeling small, “I tracked her. In the void.”

Mike’s face contorts into something unreadable, darkening at the revelation. He backs up until he hits the sofa, leaning against its back to support his weight. He puts his head in his hands, tugging at his hair nervously. She lets him have a moment to process the heft of her words and in that moment, El swears she can hear his heart skip a beat.

“You—did you go to her?”

El nods. “I saved her.” Her voice is firm, far stronger than she feels. Though guilt threatens to crush her, she has no regrets. She did what needed to be done, plain and simple.

Mike’s eyes close and he breathes out heavily through his nose, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks, square in the chest. “That’s why you’re late.”

Weakly, El nods. Mike turns then, and walks to the other side of the sofa to sit down, his knees suddenly shaking. He’s always been able to read El. Mike Wheeler, perfectly average in every way, had always thought his superpower was understanding El. How could he not have seen this coming? How had he not heard it in her voice, seen it in her face when she visited him through the void each night last week. 

“Mike?” She takes a tentative step forward, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder, hoping to offer some comfort, her fingers bunching in the softness of his shirt.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would have tried to stop me,” she replies as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, but Mike can’t quite grasp it.

He grits his teeth, biting back his feelings, but it’s no use. Because now he’s afraid. Afraid that being away from her, even for just seven months, has dulled his ability to _get_ her, to know when she needs help; to know when she needs _him_.  And if he can’t do that after seven months what hope does he have of protecting her and keeping her happy for the rest of their lives? 

“Mike say something,” El whispers, desperate to hear that everything is okay. 

“Why would you do something so dangerous?”

“I—I had to.”

“Bullshit!”

He knows that’s not fair to say. El’s always been a hero and even if she didn’t have powers, Mike knows she’d go out of her way to help people. But she’s put herself in danger so many times and he can’t fathom the thought of her not being there anymore—if something happened to her, he’s not sure he’d be able to handle it. He’s not as strong as she is. Not even close. 

El cringes at his raised voice, slipping onto the couch beside him, lacing her fingers with his. “Mike you’re overreacting, please—”

“Overreacting?” He echoes in disbelief, “Overreacting? El you could have gotten hurt! When are you going to grow up and see that you can’t save everyone?” 

Even as the words leaves his lips, Mike regrets them, wants to reach out and gather them and shove them all back to the fearful place they come from. But the feeling of her hand falling away from his own, their fingers grazing as she pulls herself away from him, tells Mike that the damage is done.

She’s always been cold when she’s angry, stoic, almost indifferent. It bothers him—that he has so many feelings that flood out of his body while El keeps everything in, buried somewhere beneath her soft skin and her beautiful heart. But he understands; he realizes that emotions—her emotions—frighten her. Anger is when she’s most powerful so she ever so carefully, ever so constantly keeps it in check.

But there, in the cluttered living room of his first college dorm room, El is angry. Her  hands have balled into fists and her eyes are closed tight. She’s retreated  inside herself, but the lights are already buzzing overhead.

And in the heat of the moment, overwhelmed and afraid, Mike continues. “You can’t be so stupid, El!”

That does it. Her eyes snap open and somewhere down the hall a light bulb shatters. Ignoring it, El marches to door and makes quick work of slipping her sneakers on. She leaves, slamming the door in his face when he tries to follow her, the force enough to rattle his teeth.

* * *

The walk to the small apartment off campus that Lucas and Max are renting is short, and El is fairly certain she remembers the way. It’s only when she’s halfway there that she remembers they’re back in Hawkins for the weekend to celebrate Mr. Sinclair’s birthday.

Oh well. She presses forward, knowing they won’t mind if she uses a couple slices of bread and a scoop of peanut butter or if she sleeps on their couch for the night. The lock won’t be a problem either.

El settles in, wrapped in Mike’s sweater, breathing in the scent that barely lingers on the fabric, one that is uniquely his own with a breath of citrus. She falls asleep with tears in her eyes.

The next morning, her eyes are heavy, still puffy from crying, and she rises slowly. She starts the walk back to Mike’s dorm, her palms clammy, her stomach in knots. She’s not sure what she wants to say to Mike, but she needs to see him before she goes back to Hawkins that evening.

When she gets there, he’s not around and for a moment she panics but when she turns around he’s standing in the doorway, staring at her like she’s the only thing in the world.

“I must have just missed you,” he says quietly, entering the room. He closes the door but doesn’t lock it—El’s always the one who locks the doors, her way of knowing she’s secure. “I went to Lucas and Max’s place but didn’t see you so I thought maybe you—“ 

There he goes again, rambling in the way that she loves so much. She’s joked before, all their friends have, about Mike Wheeler’s two different settings: won’t shut up or quiet as a mouse. The fact that he’s talking at all is a good sign and, with trembling hands, she peels off the borrowed sweater and holds it out to him.

Mike looks shocked, hurt. “You’re—you’re giving back my sweater?” _Fuck_.

El seems confused for a moment before a small, hopeful smile tugs up at the corners of her lips. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore.”

There’s a beat of silence; then Mike is by her side, running his thumb across her cheek carefully, kissing her forehead, trailing his lips down to hers.  And then she’s kissing him back as though there’s nothing in the world more important than their lips moving together, their breathing in time. The sweater falls, forgotten, to the floor.

“I’m so sorry El,” he whispers, pulling back, pressing their foreheads together. “I was just scared and I don’t always think before I open my dumb mouth.”

“Stupid mouth,” El shoots him a glare and Mike nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “I understand,” El continues, “Why you got so upset. I shouldn’t have gone.”  She steps backwards, resting her weight against the wall.

“No, El,” Mike shakes his head, “You shouldn’t have. But it’s not that.”

She looks at him quizzically, waiting for him to go on, her lips pursed tight.

“Before I met you,” Mike struggles to string together his words at first, working to remember all the unsaid things that kept him up through the night, staring at his ceiling as he planned his apology. Slowly the sentiments come back to him and his lips open like floodgates. “Before I met you,” he repeats, “I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t strong. And I had no idea I could be those things. You showed me how brave I could be. And you gave me a _real_ reason to be just that.”

“Mike—” El tries to silence him, but he carries on.

“You’re my reason, El.” His voice is earnest, quivering on the edge of tears. “I want to protect you. Hell, I know I don’t have to. I know you’ve got that covered, but I _want_ to anyways. You’re my best friend, El. I need you to be safe.”

He stops, looking at her where she stands, tears falling down her cheeks as she meets his gaze, her eyes alight with passion.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out, “I know—I promise—I’ll tell you next time.”

Mike’s heart sinks, briefly. He knows exactly what she means, but he chances asking her just the same, praying that maybe she’ll prove him wrong. “Next time?”

“Mike, I can’t stop helping people. I want to be a hero. I _want_ to protect people, just like you do.” There’s something so certain, so fierce, in her voice that it makes Mike close his eyes, imagine the rest of his life with her and the rest of his life without her in a single moment. He knows, without thinking, which way he’d rather spend his days.

“Then,” Mike says taking a deep breath, “We’ll protect people together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts & opinions. Cheers!


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